The Burning Barn
by Bladesman
Summary: Alone to manage his family's farm, disaster strikes Allen when an unknown arsonist burns down the barn. But he never expected to find a half dead Genovisian assassin by the wreckage, and when he does, he doesn't even know what she is. (Slow start, but speeds up).
1. Chapter 1

Allen woke up with a start. An orange glow came from under his door, and he smelled smoke. Leaping from his bed he dawned his clothing and grabbed a few of his belongings.

There was no window in his room, so he hurried to his door. He pressed his palm to the hardwood but sensed no heat. Cautiously, he opened the door. Through the small window on the opposite side of the house, Allen could see his families barn in flames. With a cry of horror, he ran outside. He grabbed the water bucket and ran towards the river. He scooped up a bucketful of water and sprinted back to the barn. He tossed the water onto a corner of the burning structure but it was too little too late. As he watched, the roof caved in. Allen stumbled back, hot air singing his face.

The barn collapsed entirely, the walls falling in on themselves. Allen could only watch as it burned to the ground. Allen cursed violently and hurled the bucket to the ground. Giving the barn up for lost, he hurried to check the roof of the house for sparks. He could hear the dogs inside; they were barking up a storm, but he couldn't afford to pay them any attention. He climbed up a small ladder to the roof and ran around checking for sparks. The roof was free from sparks and embers. Uttering a silent prayer, Allen climbed back down to the ground.

Angrily, Allen glanced back towards the barn. His family was visiting friends far to the south. This was his second night alone. Allen rubbed his eyes dazedly, then pinched the bottom of his arm, hoping that this was all a terrible dream. The barn was everything to him, and his father.

A flash of movement caught his eye. He saw a tall, bulky figure run into the woods, away from the remains of his family's livelihood.

Arsonist. Allen thought. He hurried inside the house and took one of his father's dirks from the tool cabinet. It was a long, double sided blade. He strapped the sheathe to his leg.

"Bill! Come here!" Allen's favorite (and most aggressive) dog trotted over. Unlike the other dogs, Bill didn't bark. Instead, he because deathly silent when his master called, or when he sensed stress.

Allen opened the door and released Bill, then followed him into the night. Knife in hand, Allen trailed after Bill's near silent snarls. He followed the dog towards the far side of the still burning remains of the barn. Bill skirted the hot embers and Allen followed stealthily. It was hard to see in the flickering firelight, and so Allen kept his knife in his right hand, ready for quick action.

Bill hesitated and growled more loudly. Allen crept forwards, eyes scanning for the arsonist. He saw no sign of the bulky figure, but a hint of color caught his eye. There was a small figure laying on the ground only a few meters away from the burning wreckage of the barn. Allen covered his face with his shirt to protect himself from the heat.

"Bill, sit." He ordered. Then he walked towards the fallen figure. Allen made sure to check his sides, aware it could be an ambush. He had no wish to be robbed or killed. Allen nudged the body with his foot. The figure made no response. Whomever it was, Allen could see that they were badly burned. Obviously, they had been inside the barn when it had caught fire.

"Bill! Guard me!" Allen's father had taught Bill several commands like this and Bill obeyed instantly. The massive dog stood up and paced in a circle around Allen. Allen sheathed his knife, and carefully picked up the body. It was surprisingly light, and Allen hurried back towards the house. The stranger, from what Allen could tell in the dim light, was dressed in cloth dyed a dull purple color. There was a charred bandana covering the stranger's face. Allen kicked open the door and rushed inside. He lay the stranger on the kitchen table and lit several candles and one oil lamp. Then he shut and locked the door. Then he grabbed the carefully prepared first aid bag. The dogs moved nervously between the front door and the kitchen, unsettled by the smell of smoke.

Allen pulled the bandana off the stranger's face and stepped back in surprise. The stranger was a girl. He had assumed that it would be a man. She had a soft, but thin face, and dark hair. Allen could see burns on her cheeks. Shaking his head, Allen leaned down close to her face. He could hear the whistling sound of her breathing. Allen picked up his dagger and cut off the drawstring of her purple cloak. Then he carefully pulled the garment out from under her. Her hands were bare and looked badly burned, but Allen also noticed dark patch on her abdomen. Its color was different from the rest of her garments. Allen touched it cautiously and his hand came away sticky with blood. Allen cursed again and, muttering a soft apology, he cut open her shirt. There was a tiny, curved knife embedded in the top right of her abdomen, just below her ribcage. There was a crude attempt at bandaging around the wound. Allen cut the bandage away. His father had taught him basic first aid, and he knew that the blade couldn't stay where it was. He rinsed the area with clean water, then used his fingertips to open the wound slightly around the knife. He had done a similar operation on a cow, but that was definitely different. The girl moaned in pain, but then Allen had the knife out. The incision was bleeding freely, but Allen stitched it up and put a fresh square bandage on top. The bleeding slowed and finally stopped. Allen washed his hands, feeling them shaking slightly. He rested for a second, recovering from the stress of mini surgery. After a minute, he treated the burns with cool water and some of his mother's special cream. he wondered briefly is he had done everything right, but the girl was still breathing, so he decided that he was probably on the right track.

Bill paced around the table, excited by the smell of blood, "Bill, go sit down." Bill bared his teeth in a smile and went to sit down. Allen cleaned the blood off of the table and threw the dirty bandages into the fireplace. The house was still filled with the orange light from the burning barn, although at this point it was unrecognizable. Allen hoped that their old horse had made it out, but somehow he doubted it.

Remembering the shadowy figure, Allen barred the front door. He was fairly confident that the dogs could warn him if the arsonists returned. Allen sat down in his father's favorite chair to rest. And although he meant to stay awake and watchful, he quickly fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Bill's growling woke Allen from his slumber. Allen sat up in the char and rubbed his eyes miserably. The memory of his family's barn in flames was etched behind his eyes.

Allen looked to his right, and jumped as he noticed the girl was awake, and staring at him with piercing eyes.

"Bill," he said, "go sit down." Bill retreated to his spot underneath the stairs.

"I'm Allen." Said Allen. He wasn't sure how to approach this kind of situation, and assumed that introducing himself was a good move.

The girl glared at him, "Where are my weapons? And what do you intend to do with me?"

"Sorry?" Said Allen, taken aback by her abrupt manner.

"You took me here. Took my weapons. Who are you, and what do you want?" She had an accent that Allen couldn't place.

"Nothing," Said Allen, "I just, you know, saved your life after your friend burnt down my barn."

She scoffed, "Whomever you saw, they were not my friend."

"Well they probably took your stuff." Allen stretched and yawned, "how's your stomach feel? I did my best to stitch you back together, but I'm no expert."

"At least you can that properly, I think. It's hard for me to see it."

Allen wondered how the wound had happened, but decided he start his questions off small, "What's your name?"

She glared, but eventually answered, "Marin."

"I get the feeling you're lying to me."

Marin shrugged as best she could, "Why did you help me?"

It was Allen's turn to shrug, "Because you needed it? I don't know. I guess I kind of wanted to find out what happened to my barn."

"Thanks." Said Marin, though Allen could tell it pained her to say it.

"If you're alright then I have some chores I need to get done."

"What ever," said Marin, closing her eyes.

"Do you want to move to a bedroom?" It had just occurred to Allen that the table couldn't be comfortable to lie on.

He could see her considering, judging his intentions, "Fine." She sounded obstinate. After Allen helped her to one of the spare bedrooms, he started his chores. First he had to bring fresh water from the well. He filled the indoor tank, doing his best to ignore the smoldering remains of the barn. Then he chopped more firewood. It took him about an hour to complete the household chores, then he checked on Marin again.

He had put her up in the guest room. It was a cozy room, with a tiny washbasin, and a very comfortable bed.

He found her sleeping, but put a cup of water on the bedside table incase she felt well enough to drink it when she woke up.

Next, he had to feed the chickens. Allen headed back towards the kitchen and opened one of the storage bins built into the floor. He withdrew the emergency animal feed, and set out. Walking around the house, he eyed the surrounding woods suspiciously. He hoped that the arsonist wasn't still hiding and waiting for a chance to kill them.

At first he didn't see it, he was so focussed on the woods. It caught his eye and Allen stopped walking.

There was blood all over the chicken coop. The birds lay dead on the ground. Shot full of crossbow bolts. Allen hurried forwards, checking to see if any birds had been spared. Instead of live birds, however, was something much more horrific. The severed heads of all three of his cows were mounted on sharpened stakes beside the coop. The middle head belonged to Daffodil, their sweetest tempered cow. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, dripping blood and attracting flies. Along the wall of the house was written a message in blood:

"YOU AND THE GIRL WILL BE NEXT!"

Allen dropped the seed and ran back around the house, shouting for Bill. He wrenched open the front door and found Bill sitting in behind it, ears wiggling in surprise at being called. Allen slammed the door shut, then locked and barred it. He ran around doing the same to the windows. He let the dogs roam freely throughout the house to check for intruders.

Then he ran to see Marin. She was still gripped in sleep, but he shook her shoulder. She woke up with a jerk, then cried out as her wound was jostled.

"What!" She snarled.

"Who is it that's after you!" Yelled Allen, gripping her shoulders with both hands as if to shake her, "who!"

"Stop shouting!" She grabbed his arm twisted it.

"OWW." Allen snarled, he snatched his arm back and rubbed it.

"Sorry," Allen growled, "but I've just seen all my chickens shot through with crossbow bolts, and the heads of my dairy cows impaled on spikes in the yard, and a message written in their blood saying you and I are next!"

As Marin's eyes locked on his, he saw for the first time a hint of fear, "are you sure?" She said, "it read both of us are next?"

"Yes." Replied Allen, "what's going on?"

Marin tried to sit up, but failed. Allen lifted her carefully up.

"It's a long story," she started, "I'm a Genovesan assassin. Me and five other were sent to kill a man named Shadeo."

"Why?" Interrupted Allen.

"Because the cost for five assassins is enough to build a small castle. Especially because we had to travel to Araluen. We arrived a few weeks ago, and tracked Shadeo to this area. We set an ambush for him." Marin scoffed, then coughed painfully, "Can you imagine? Five Genovesan Assassins versus one man! We thought there was no way he would escape alive. We were certain, but very thorough. There was no way he should have escaped."

"But he did?" Prompted Allen, intrigued by Marin's story.

But when she looked at him, her eyes full of tears, curiosity faded, "He didn't just escape. He…." She closed her eyes for a second, "He killed the others. All of them."

Allen waited patiently for her to continue, fear rising. What chance did he have against a man that could kill four professional assassins?

"It wasn't that he killed them," Marin continued, "it was how he did it. He made it look easy, like a joke. He had a machete, but he didn't even use it. He just broke my friends' bones with his bare hands. I remember, Tocsin's ribs sticking out of his body."

"How did you get away?"

"I just did. Luck I guess."

"So now he's going to kill us both? Burn the house down with us inside?" Allen remembered with a pang how many hours he and his father had spent building this house.

"He won't burn it down…. He prefers to kill face to face."

"So what happened to my barn?" If this mysterious murderer liked to kill in person why was Allen's barn in flames?

"I shot at him with my crossbow overtime he tried to come inside. So I guess he got bored." She sighed and looked away from Allen for a second.

"You'll have to leave."

"Leave?" Asked Allen, surprised, "this is my home! I'm supposed to look after it for my father!"

Marin's temper snapped, "There's a demented serial killer on the loose, he's coming to kill you, and you want to stay right here! Where he can find us?"

"Well you cant go anywhere right now! You can't even stand!" Allen knew that Marin was right, but he couldn't find it in his heart to leave.

"You go," Marin responded, "I'm going to stay."

"You just said theres a demented killer. He wants you dead!"

"Yeah. I know." Said Marin, and Allen understood. She thought that if the murder killed her, he might forget about Allen.

Allen shook his head, "You're not staying. I took the trouble of saving your life once, you're not allowed to throw it away."

Marin tried to stare him down, but his gaze was unfaltering, "So what do you want to do? Wait to die?"

"Wait until your wound heals, then we'll leave and find someone to help."

"Someone like who?" Asked Marin, "no one can kill Shadeo."

"A Ranger could." Said Allen, "we just have to ask them for help."


	3. Chapter 3

"A Ranger…." Muttered Marin, "what makes you think that they could do anything?"

Allen raised an eyebrow, "They have massive longbows—no one can even get close to them! Plus," he changed his voice to a whisper, "people say that they can use black magic to make themselves invisible."

Marin laughed, but it was dry and devoid of warmth, "Black magic? You seriously think that?"

Allen glared at her, "Of course I do! Have you seen them? Drifting in and out of the woods like they can be part of the trees themselves?"

"It's called camouflage and stealth movement. Not dark magic."

"What would you know about all this anyway?" Allen accused, "you seem a little out of your depth here."

"Whatever. I guess that's the best plan I'm going to get." Marin closed her eyes, "I'm probably going to die here anyway."

Allen left the room, unable to formulate an argument. After a while of stomping around the house angrily, he decided he should cut Marin some lack. After all, she was the one with the knife wound, not him. He hoped it would heal quickly. If she were telling the truth about Shadeo's capabilities, they would need to hurry to alert the local ranger. Allen wondered if he should head out by himself. If he did, the killer might come and attack Marin, but on the other hand, it wasn't far to the castle. He could make it in half a day if he ran as fast as he could. Then the ranger could come back, moving twice as fast with his horse. It was almost a convincing argument.

There was only one thing stopping him. The sheer brutality of the scene by the chicken coup, and the terrifying lack of knowledge. Where was this man? What did he want? How was it that he could kill all of the chickens and cows, then mount them like a grisly art display close to the house without anyone noticing?

Allen knew that he had to wait for Marin to get well enough to travel with him. But in the meantime…. If she were really a Genov—whatever, assassin, maybe she could teach him how to fight with knives or swords. He didn't own a sword, but his father owned several machetes, which Allen figured was close enough. He resolved to ask her later.

It was almost midday, and too afraid to go outside, Allen went into his parent's bedroom. It was unlike the other rooms in the house because it alone had a window. It looked out to the east, neither the barn nor the chicken coop were visible from it.

His parent's dresser was opposite their bed, and in one corner there was a small cabinet. He was generally not allowed in the cabinet, but with recent events, Allen's normal curiosity was lifted to a burning desire to know what was inside. After all, if the murderer struck again, he might never have another chance.

Allen opened it and rifled through. There were a variety of teas, a bar of chocolate, his father's commendation from his time in the army, and to his surprise, a small vial of painkiller. Allen pulled it out careful and looked at the label. He hadn't known that his parents owned something like this. But it would come in handy. He hoped his mother wouldn't mind.

He hurried back downstairs and boiled more tea. Then hurried with the cup into Marin's room. She turned her head away when he entered and so he stopped by the doorway, "Marin, I've found some of what I think will help with the pain if you want it."

She was silent for a second, but eventually she looked over, "Can I see?"

Allen handed her the vial, "yeah."

Marin looked at it for a long moment, "You'd give some of this to me? I mean, why would you do that?"

Allen shrugged, not understanding her question, "Why not? It's a painkiller isn't it? And, you're in pain, right?"

Marin nodded, "Yes but this is very valuable. It's from Ni-Hon-Ja, it stops the pain but also makes you heal faster." She hesitated, then held it back out to him, "I can't accept it."

"Well, it isn't like my parents have ever used it." Said Allen, holding out the mug, "And you need it more than I do."

"I've been stabbed before."

"Come on! It's not a big deal, just put in however much you need."

"Can you do it?" She asked, "my hands are a little shaky, I think."

Allen took the vial and set the mug on the bedside table, "How should I pour it?"

"One drop should do it…."

Allen poured one drop into the tea. The drop was a greenish brown color, and it dissipated in the tea. He handed her the mug, and Marin gulped the tea down. Allen realized that she must be in much more pain than she had been letting on. He sat on the floor by the bed.

"What're you doing?" Marin asked.

"Just sitting. Wondering if you're going to talk to me." Allen felt a badly for behaving angrily in front of her earlier, he hadn't been thinking.

"How about you talk to me first?" Her eyes stared at him with her piercing expression.

"About what?" He asked, suddenly unsure of what to say.

"Well, I don't know. Do you work for your father? On the farm?"

Allen nodded, "Yeah, I do. It keeps me busy. You know. My mom is teaching me to read and write…. But I'm not very good at it yet."

"Do you like working on a farm?"

"I guess, I mean, I always kind of wanted to be a knight or a Horse Master. You know, the guys that manage horses for nobility." Allen realized it felt good to talk to Marin, the circumstance was strange, sure, but he hadn't talked with anyone his age for a while. Too long, he thought And he had never met a foreigner that dressed like Marin, with her black leather clothing and purple cloak. "What about you? You said you were an assassin? What does that even mean?"

"It means that I kill people for money. That's what it means. And no, I never wanted to be an assassin. And no, I don't live in a gloomy castle with ancient, creepy men and women. And no, I don't have poison in my fingernails."

"Is that a real thing? Poison in your fingernails?" Allen was slightly horrified by the idea. What if you scratched yourself a little too hard?

"Some go for poison in the nails, I don't." Marin sighed heavily, "I think the tea is working."

"Do you know how to knife-fight? Sword fight? Kill somebody with a fork? What weapons—"

"A fork?" Marin interrupted, "you have no idea how to fight, do you?"

"Not really," said Allen, feeling rather embarrassed, "I mean, I can't even throw a decent punch. But hey, how'd you become an assassin anyway?" He didn't want to talk about his abilities. He felt that if she heard that story she would laugh at him.

She looked up at the ceiling, breaking eye contact before she answered, "I don't know, I just fell into it. It keeps me busy."

"How old are you? You can't be much older than me." Allen was eighteen.

Marin raised her less singed eyebrow, "What's it to you?"

"Just curious!"

"Almost nineteen." She muttered.

"Oh. Same as me. Got any family?"

Marin shook her head, "They died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. My father wasn't the greatest." She looked sad for a second, but the expression vanished so quickly Allen wasn't sure he'd seen it.

"Do you mind if I ask why?" Allen's father was his role model, he couldn't image what it would be like to not have that kind of support.

"He was never around. When he was he beat us. Threw money away drinking. That kind of thing. When he finally left for good, we were all happy."

Allen didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent, trying to imagine what that would be like. He found that he couldn't do it.

"It doesn't matter," she said, but she sounded rather forlorn to Allen.

"I'm tired," she said after a long moment of silence.

"I'll go." Said Alex.


End file.
